


Heart-Shaped Ottoman

by Elle Gray (Elle_Gray)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Cross-Generation Relationship, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, Curse Breaking, Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Fuck Or Die, HP Next Gen Fest 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Next Generation, Implied Switching, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Gray/pseuds/Elle%20Gray
Summary: Draco has had interns before, but none so bothersome as Teddy Lupin.
Relationships: Teddy Lupin/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 84
Collections: Next Gen Fest 2020





	Heart-Shaped Ottoman

**Author's Note:**

> Thank to Gracerene for the prompt and my little owl friend for the beta.

Tuesday dawns frosty and still, the fog just starting to burn off as Draco leaves Islington. He’s up earlier than usual, there’s been an urgent owl from Robards, and while he’d tried to ignore it, his boss tends to know a tenacious bird when he sees one. Standing at the window in his thick woollen robe, the note had, fortunately, filled Draco with interest rather than dread, which was rare for an urgent early morning owl. He'd forgone a shower and opted for a quick freshening charm instead, dressing and seeing to an abbreviated version of his morning routine before heading off. The cat had been displeased, but she was like that.

There are a handful of reasons this particular case interests Draco. For one, he happened to read a relevant article recently — one estimating how many magical homes might be lying abandoned all over Britain after the war. Houses hidden under ancient charms, residents long dead and descendants none the wiser. The fact that the house he’s headed for has appeared seemingly out of nowhere offers a counter-argument to Professor Granger-Weasley’s estimations, and Draco is tempted to submit an article of his own to the same publication if this case gives him anything good to go on. 

Secondly, he rather likes working in a group, it reminds him of his training, and the note had said to meet the “team” outside the front gate of 21 Buchanan Street, Croydon. He doesn’t know who the team is, but there aren’t that many curse-breakers in Greater London, so chances are he knows them well. 

Lastly, since it’s a domestic case, not anything obviously sinister, it’s likely significantly less lethal than usual. His new charge is a bit of a liability, and the less peril Draco can lead him into the better. The kid has the deputy head of the DMLE (and saviour of the wizarding world) wrapped around his little finger and Draco would rather not face Potter’s wrath for endangering his godson. Even though any nastiness that befell Teddy would probably be his own fault. He doesn’t seem to listen properly and it stresses Draco out.

Teddy’s not his first intern, there've been plenty — some suited to curse-breaking and some not — but Teddy’s the first one that’s made Draco this uneasy. He fidgets too much and cares too little and his clothes always look like they’re going to flap about and catch on something. Yesterday he'd turned up in ungainly platform leather boots, laced halfway up his calves and paired with jeans so gratuitously tight Draco had suspected he’d come straight from the clubs to work that morning. His shirt had still managed to be over-sized to the point of billowing needlessly around the physical evidence and Draco had become so agitated he’s sent him home an hour early. His hurt look hadn’t helped matters. 

Draco was essentially stuck with a judiciously-pierced, liberally-tattooed, pink-haired puppy dog for another four weeks, which might be enough to convince him to retire at 38 instead of waiting until something almost killed him. Perhaps fate would intervene and Teddy would end up being the thing that almost killed him. 

There are, as expected, two other pairs of curse-breakers present when he arrives in Croydon, the crack of his Apparition barely enough to earn him a temporarily-raised eyebrow. Mill and Lisa are there, breathing in the steam of coffee and standing off to the side. Cooper is in the thick of it, interrogating the Auror that's holding the clipboard, and Dharva is blatantly flirting with the other one. There’s no sign of Teddy anywhere and Draco wonders if he was meant to contact the kid himself.

‘Are the babies invited to this garden party?’ he asks Millicent, and Lisa answers for her, as is becoming more and more usual for them.

‘Yeah, ours is hungover though. Yours is apparently on his way.’

‘Brilliant,’ he says and Lisa scowls at his sarcasm. He ignores her. ‘Anything further on the house?’

‘Nothing that wasn’t in the owl. Muggle dog-walker called the local police about a house appearing out of nowhere, they called us, we made them forget everything, and now we’re warded to the high heavens. No one’s been inside the gate yet, but the garden looks fucking nasty. Bags not.’

‘Agreed.’ Draco hates magical plants. There had been an incident in the greenhouses in eighth and he’s never quite recovered. Every time he gets tangled in his sheets, now, he ends up having nightmares. ‘If we mention it looks extremely difficult in earshot of Dharva’s ego we might be able to avoid it.’

‘To be fair the house doesn’t look much more appetising,’ Mill says. ‘It takes a special kind of crazy cat lady to paint it like that.’

‘It’s quite pink,’ Draco says, looking through the tall iron gates. 

‘And it shouldn’t be,’ Mill says. ‘It’s  _ Victorian _ .’ 

Draco isn’t sure what that means, but until that paper coffee cup is empty he’s not going to argue with her.

‘It looks structurally sound, at least,’ he says. 

Lisa huffs out a sardonic sort of laugh like that might be the least of their worries once they get in there, and Millicent seems to agree with her assessment of his optimism.

‘Draco, if you compare everything to that fiasco in Brussels, you’re going to end up walking into something very fucking dangerous and still thinking you’re lucky. Get a grip.’

‘I’m very careful, thank you,’ he says, and he hears the shittiness rising in his voice. Maybe he should’ve stopped for a coffee as well.

‘You aren’t.’

‘Name one time.’

‘Thursday.’ Millicent looks at him like he’s certifiable. ‘You—’

‘Morning all,’ comes a voice from behind them, and Draco turns, glad to have a way out of being aggressively admonished by his childhood friend.

‘Teddy,’ he states in greeting, keeping his voice neutral. 

He tries to not be too familiar with him; it can cause... problems, and has done before, years ago, now. He doesn’t chat. It sets undesirable expectations.

‘Hi Draco, I brought coffee.’ The kid grins like he’s the first person to think of such a thing, but it only lasts as long as it takes for him to notice he’s being scowled at. ‘Um. If you want?’

Draco looks up from the appallingly wrinkled state of Teddy’s clothes and it sinks in that the kid’s holding two large paper cups from Draco’s favourite cafe in Balham, and a paper bag, which might have a cupcake in it for him. Teddy’s poor choice of attire matters slightly less all of a sudden. If it was a choice. Maybe he’d been wearing that when the urgent owl arrived and he'd had to peel himself off the floor of some derelict flat in Tooting Broadway with nothing but his name and a pocket of Sickles. And judging by the tightness of his trousers, Draco’s tempted to make a sarcastic guess about where those Sickles came from. But he doesn’t. 

‘What happened?’ Teddy asks, handing a cup over and tapping the biodegradable plastic lid of his own against Draco’s in some odd, sober, morning-time cheers. He doesn’t offer up the contents of the bag.

‘A house un-hid itself,’ Mill says. ‘More than likely, the bog-ancient Fidelius Charm broke when the last descendant died and it’s appeared here so that we can do something for it.’

‘Do something for... the house?’

‘Yes. Remove said descendant from the loo of the second floor bathroom maybe. We’ve done that before. Some old bugger had died mid-shit, and the house had revealed itself for exactly as long as it took for him to be removed. Then  _ pop _ . Gone again. Didn’t even get a chance to flush.

‘Why would a house do that?’

‘Would you want some old guy with his pants down sitting on you for the rest of eternity?’ Mill asks, and Draco can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s more to her question. She’s not stupid and if she’s panning for rainbows, it gives credence to what Draco’s noticed in the kid as well. 

He tries not to think of his suspicions as  _ confirmed _ when Teddy’s gaze skitters across to Draco before he lets out a husky morning-soft laugh and says,  _ ‘No, of course not. Yuck.’  _ He pretends he didn’t notice that Teddy’s eyes didn’t stay above the belt and that his pale skin is tinged with pink. He does let himself be offended that this might mean that Teddy thinks he’s  _ “some old guy” _ , because that’s only natural, and there’s a satisfying sort of truth in admitting vanity.

‘If it’s just to find a dead body, why do they need curse-breakers?’ Teddy asks, and Mill, bless her, keeps indulging his curious, youthful mind so Draco doesn’t have to.

‘They only call us in to make sure the whole thing isn’t some sort of booby trap. Otherwise the Aurors could handle it. Even if they are usually Gryffindors.’

Teddy stops with his mouth on the coffee cup, bottom lip pressed against the biodegradable lid.  _ ‘Trap _ ?’

  
  


Millicent shrugs and takes a sip of her own coffee. ‘Old houses do strange things when they’re left alone for too long.’ 

She ends her impromptu lecture there and Teddy stares at the pink house, grey eyes wide and his mouth sort of surprised-looking, like that plump bottom lip might start to tremble any second. Draco could be imagining that though, maybe he’s spent too much time with toddlers. His own son always seemed very fond of wibbling and crying and being far too dramatic. Asti kept saying it was hereditary, and Draco kept fantasising about leaving her, and then she went and died and left him with a manor house full of personal issues. Not least a slight hunger for youth, after his own was scrabbled over and ripped away, and then so was hers, and he feels like he might’ve been due a bit more of an easy ride after that. Treats. Things that make him feel like it hasn’t all been uphill. They haven’t been particularly forthcoming.

He sips his coffee and tries not to let his eyes catch on Teddy’s skintight jeans. 

*

Millicent and Lisa take the downstairs, Cooper and Dharva, the grounds. Draco and Teddy are upstairs, where it’s clean and dry, so far, and there’s no stabby kitchen to contend with. Probably still a bathroom though and that’s enough for a Saturday. There’s a decent chance there’s a dead woman in it and that’s never fun. He thinks about casting a charm so he can’t smell anything but it might mean he misses a sign of some looming danger and that’s potentially worse than sniffing something stinky.

The hallways are a further tribute to the colour pink, with the addition of dark wooden accents and an abundance of silk flowers in an equal abundance of vases. Draco sees a couple he quite likes, and it’s a shame they might blink out of existence before he can rescue them.

Teddy keeps at his heels like a devoted collie, and it’s annoying having him in the edge of his periphery, but also a welcome reprieve from having to look at him dressed like a pastel-coloured gothic baby. They work their way from the stairs to the northernmost corner in less than half an hour, clearing a bathroom (no corpse), a sitting room, and a small blue bedroom that’s obviously not seen use in several years. Either because the house has been hidden or because the owner didn’t have small guests.

They move into what looks to be the master bedroom next, carefully, and it's gorgeous. Huge, ornate furniture with pearl inlays and carved curlicues, all matching. The curtains are drawn wide, long pink velvet, letting in the mid-morning sun. A swathe of dust floats through the beams of light. The wallpaper is floral, flocked and accented with silver. Narcissa would like it. It’s a lady’s room, one that doesn’t allow for the taste of one’s husband. Perhaps there hadn’t been one or perhaps this lady simply hadn’t liked him enough to share a bedroom with him. Perhaps she’d killed him years ago and painted her house pink in celebration. Draco hasn’t seen any photographs or portraits so far, so it’s hard to tell. Maybe there were two women living here and they just didn’t like art.

‘Dya reckon someone died in here?’ Teddy asks from behind him, and he sounds all sorts of quiet, which is unusual.

‘I doubt it,’ Draco says, but not because he’s thinking that there isn’t a body somewhere in the house, quite the opposite. It’s just not in  _ here _ . ‘Corpses smell quite bad.’ 

‘What if they’re a skeleton already?’

‘Then I suppose they wouldn’t smell, provided it had been long enough. But it doesn’t make me any more excited about finding one.’

‘Have you found a dead person before?’

‘Yes. Multiple times. It was me who—’ Draco stops himself. He doesn’t like to talk about the war with Teddy, the kid managed to miss all the bad bits, but it must remind him of his parents, and Draco doesn’t know how he feels about it. He  _ really _ doesn’t know how he’d feel about Draco being the one to find the kid’s father dying in a corridor either, so maybe he’ll keep that to himself. ‘It’s not really something I like thinking about.’

Teddy gives him an awkwardly sympathetic look, and it’s extra awkward because he shouldn’t be feeling sorry for Draco right now, it should absolutely be the other way around. Draco’s father might be dead but at least he’d had a chance to know him, and his mother is just as maniacally attentive now as she ever was. He’s been tempted not to tell her when he’s moved flats, just for the sake of his privacy. Maybe he should call her over here and see if this house wants a new mistress. Maybe it’ll disappear with her in it and Draco can date without his mother having an opinion about it all.

They check the rest of the room systematically, casting the usual barrage of charms in each quadrant, paying special attention to objects that look older than the rest, or seem to have pride of place on any of the uniquely cluttered surfaces. There are more ceramic unicorns here than Draco has seen in his whole life, let alone in one place.

There’s another sub-chamber off to the side, a dressing room it seems, behind a door in the corner. Teddy and Draco stand on the threshold and assess how best to process it. It’s dark and narrow and full of things and Draco thinks (for the first time) that it’s probably a good thing that Teddy’s clothes are close-fitting today, since it lessens the chance of him knocking anything over or brushing against uncertain doom.

‘Can you see a light switch?’ Teddy asks, and Draco frowns at him. How many times must he give the same instructions?

‘Teddy, always bring your own light to the scene. You can’t trust what’s there already,’ 

As a strong  _ Lumos _ flares from beside him, it becomes very clear they aren’t entirely alone. Draco feels Teddy startle as a series of mannequins lining the walls come into view. A dollop of carnival music and this could be a bona fide nightmare. Draco’s already pretty sure this room is going to turn up in his dreams. There’s a big, pink, heart-shaped ottoman in the middle of the room that’s probably a nightmare to clean, at least. It’s velvet and deep-buttoned and looks like it would attract dust and crumbs and lord knows what else.

Teddy recovers admirably. He casts a few diagnostic charms at the floor and the ceiling, then and steps into the room ahead of Draco, which suits him fine. If there’s something worse in there than mannequins and dust, he’d rather not be the one closest to it. Plus, looking at Teddy’s tightly-clad denim arse calms Draco down in a way that deep breathing doesn’t quite manage. He shouldn’t do it, but needs must..

‘You want to do this one yourself?’ he asks Teddy, deciding to give the kid a chance to prove himself, under minor stress, no less. Besides, there’s not a lot of space and Draco’s really not a fan of mannequins. 

‘Yeah, alright.’ Teddy smiles like he’s been gifted something meaningful, and it turns out having to watch him go about his work mightn't have been the best idea after all, if he’s going to look at Draco like that.

The kid even follows the appropriate procedure, making sure the exit is clear (he asks Draco to stand back), checking for windows (there are none), then cataloguing any other living entities (only spiders). He’s dividing up the room into quadrants, sweeping long tendrils of magic into a glowing grid, when the shift of air hits a chartreuse-coloured ostrich feather boa where it hangs on the corner of a mirror. The movement catches Teddy’s eye and he reacts admirably quickly, freezing the boa, mid-waft. Unfortunately, he also manages to upset a bottle of what might be perfume, and jumps a mile as it clatters and Draco thinks _ fuck, _ but Teddy catches it before it hits the ground, and for a second everything’s okay.

Unfortunately, as is the way of invincible 20-somethings, Teddy is instantly high on the thrill of his own physical prowess and laughs at Draco for being worried instead of remembering what he’s actually meant to do when he ends up with something in his hand he hasn’t already checked for nefarious spells. 

‘It’s just a perfume bottle,’ he says and, to Draco’s horror, squeezes the little poofer-thingy and a sparkling mist of Lord-knows-what bursts out of the bottle. ‘It's fine, my nan has this one, it’s not dangerous.’

Draco could kill him. But maybe he won’t have to.

The smell of leather becomes immediately apparent, then something like strawberry, sweet and fake. Cinnamon follows, and Draco realises how much trouble they’re in. 

When he opens his eyes, Teddy has a look on his face like he knows he’s an idiot and it might be his undoing. He very carefully puts the bottle down and stares at it like it’s betrayed him.

Draco’s training kicks in, he steps in and seals the room, all the way around the gap in the door, shutting them in. He doesn’t know how many micro-particles of vapour made it into the main bedroom, but there’s an awful lot of air out there so hopefully the lower concentration will keep anyone else from being compromised. Assuming they’re compromised in here. Assuming it is what he thinks. There’s still hope it isn’t, but protocol doesn’t deal with hope.

Draco grabs Teddy around the waist just as he starts to sway. Casting the requisite spells at the ottoman takes far too long but he does it. Teddy whimpers and folds over in his grip. Draco worries he might be dying. Or hopes he is, since the alternative might actually be worse. His hope is dwindling. He drops the kid onto the ottoman, and he whines like a puppy. 

‘What are your symptoms?’ Draco asks, running both of them over with several cleaning charms and wondering if he’s managed to get away with not being dosed; he’s not feeling anything that would make him carry on like Teddy is.

Teddy laughs. Not happily, but he laughs. 

‘What’s  _ wrong _ ?’ Draco presses, pulling him up by his hair and shining a  _ Lumos _ in his pale blue eyes. His pupils are blown wide, and his brow is furrowed as if he’s in pain.

‘I’m...’ Teddy winces as Draco feels his forehead, his cheeks, the pulse at his throat. ‘Kind of hard.’ The kid bats at his hands, pushing him away. ‘That’s not helping, please stop touching me.’

‘Kind of  _ hard _ ?’ Draco’s hope sinks into his shoes. 

Teddy shifts, wincing. He leans back enough to prove that  _ kind of _ was an understatement. His jeans are obscenely tented considering how tight they were already. It almost looks painful. 

‘Fuck,’ Draco says.

‘Please don’t say that word,’ Teddy whispers, screwing his eyes shut.

Draco notices that he’s flushed himself, now. Warm. A bit tingly. He’d love it to be because of the breathy response he’s getting and the eyeful of denim-clad cock, but it’s probably not. He runs some diagnostics over the kid, then himself. Teddy’s heart rate is flying, and his oxygen saturation is dropping slightly. Looks a lot like poisoning symptoms, but he’s never met a poison that caused such specific localised swelling without direct contact.

‘How do you feel?’ he asks. 

‘Weird. It’s kind of like. A bit like champagne drunk but fuzzier.’

‘Have you ever encountered Amortentia?’

‘What? The love potion? Of course.’

‘Yes, the love potion.’ Draco has, he knows what it’s meant to smell like to him. Or at least, he knows what it used to smell like, years ago, when he was with Asti. This smells… similar. Not exactly the same, but it’s been years, that’s probably not unusual. ‘What does it smell like to you?’

‘Coconut. Woollen jumpers. Home baking.’

‘And the vapour? Does it smell the same?’

‘Sort of. Not exactly. This one is more, I dunno.’ He takes a deep, exploratory breath and shudders. ‘Citrusy.’

Shit. It smells like  _ Draco _ , which means that infernal strawberry scent really is Teddy’s chapstick, and both of them are thoroughly fucked. 

There’s no good way for a 38-year-old man to explain to his 20-year-old intern that this is happening. ‘I think the vapour was a sort of love potion,’ he says, and watches Teddy for a reaction. 

‘I don’t think it’s  _ love _ it’s interested in,’ he says, and looks up at him from under his lashes. Not helping. 

‘Yeah,’ Draco says. ‘I might call Millicent up here. She’s better with this sort of stuff.’ He reaches out a hand and squeezes Teddy’s shoulder. ‘It’ll be okay,’ he says.

‘That's not helping,’ Teddy whispers, craning his neck so he can rub his cheek against Draco’s hand. He groans and stops himself. ‘This is so  _ embarrassing _ . Can you kill me or something? It's fine, I don’t have parents.’

‘I’m not killing you. Hang on.’ 

Draco conjures his Patronus and sends it off to find Mill. She makes him pass the perfume bottle through the door, wrapped in a dozen layers of protective magic, and still he’s worried she’ll end up in here too and he’ll have to fuck his oldest friend  _ and _ his intern.

‘It's bad,’ she says through the warded hole they’ve made in the door.

‘How bad?

‘Well. Not  _ bad _ bad, since you don't have a wife and Ted’s next of kin is only 

Harry Potter, who certainly won’t kill you.’

‘What’s in the bottle?’

‘It’s a… romantic incentive creator. A lust potion of sorts. But also terrible poison and you’ll need to purge it.’

‘What does that mean, exactly?’

‘Well, those affected need to purge the... you know...  _ need _ . Get it out. Do the thing they want to do.’

Draco cringes to himself. ‘Can they do it by themselves?’

‘They could try, but I’ve never come across an evil spell that only makes someone need to  _ wank _ . That's not really a curse, it's just a regular morning tea break for you men, isn't it?’

‘You know it isn't.’

‘I don’t actually, last time I went near a dick we were thirteen and your dorm room smelled permanently of spunk and lavender-scented hand lotion.’

‘That was  _ not _ me.’

‘Well, I'm sorry I can’t tell the smell of your fluids from everyone elses. Go see to your baby curse-breaker so he doesn’t end up dead.’

‘Will he actually die?

‘He might. Is he in pain? Has he gone all red? Is he whimpering?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you’d better fuck him, Draco, in case Auror Potter decides to kill you for not fucking his godson when he needed you to. You don’t really have much of an excuse, the kid is pretty and you’re a dirty bastard. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it already.’

Lisa interjects from behind her with something unkind and eerily accurate and Draco feels his last hopes slip away on a memory of himself very much thinking about it. 

‘Draco?’ Teddy whines from behind him. ‘I don't feel so good.’

‘Millicent,’ Draco hisses through the door hole. ‘If it turns out you two are wrong, I’m going to kill you both.’

‘But at least you’ll both be alive to do that. Bright side.’ She grins and flicks her wand and the hole in the door disappears. They’re alone again. 

Draco looks across the room at Teddy, still hunched over, his hair a dark greyish beige. The kid looks terrible. He walks back over and his own blood hums happily as he nears. It's not a good sign. Well, it's not a good sign he’s clear of the curse himself, it's a good sign that proximity makes the symptoms less.

He crouches down in front of Teddy, trying to get a look at his face. 

‘Did you hear all of that? How do you feel?’

‘Pretty bad.’

‘I’m going to touch you and see if it helps.’

‘Okay.’

Draco lays a flat hand on Teddy's thigh. ‘How's this?’

‘Better.’

‘Good. what about this?’ He slides his hand higher.

‘Yeah.’ Teddy clutches at him, pulling him closer.

‘Does it feel better when we’re touching?’

‘Yes, come closer, please.’ Teddy sinks to the floor and drapes himself over Draco, long coltish limbs snaking around his waist. It's not unpleasant.

Draco feels an ache form in his lap and the rock hard inevitability settles in him, the weight of indecision sliding off his shoulders. They were just going to have to do this. 

Quickly, hopefully, and just the once. 

‘Have you had sex before, Teddy?’

‘What? Yeah.’ His lips tickle Draco’s neck and it’s a relief, at least, that he can’t see the resulting blush. ‘Is— Is that what Millicent said we had to do? There isn’t a counter-curse?’

Dammit. Draco was hoping the kid had heard everything and he wouldn’t have to repeat it. ‘She said it wasn’t so much of a curse as a poison, that you have to purge it.’

‘Purge it how? With—  _ Oh _ . Like, milk it out. Like snake venom.’

‘Yeah, like snake venom. Or milk, I suppose.’

‘Do I do it manually, or does—?’ Teddy leans back to look at Draco properly. ‘Do we both have to— Um. What do we have to do?’

‘Allegedly.’ Draco stares hard at the wall. ‘According to curse-breakers Bulstrode and Turpin, we have to have some sort of sex.’

‘Okay.’

‘Is it? Okay?’ Draco feels himself caught between emotions. He’s feeling simultaneously quite protective and incredibly horny.

‘Yeah. I mean. I’ve done it before.’

‘Good. Good. Me too. Obviously. You know my son.’

‘I’d kind of imagined you’d done it more than that one time.’

‘Yeah, well. Okay.’ Draco feels his cheeks heat. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t be imagining your colleagues having sex.’

‘Is it okay to imagine it now?’

He’s right, the kid will be the death of him. ‘Yeah, okay, now seems appropriate.’

‘How are  _ you _ feeling, Draco?’

‘Compromised. It doesn’t hurt, you definitely got a bigger dose than I did, but... definitely compromised.’ He hopes it’s the poison anyway, and not the innate desire to fuck anything this pretty. ‘Is there anything you don’t want to do?’

‘Die, mostly.’

Draco appreciates the humour on an academic level but now might not be the best time. ‘I meant sex-wise?’

‘Can we just do it normally? I’m okay with that.’

‘Sure.’

‘Can I kiss you?’ Teddy shifts to straddle Draco’s lap.

‘That seems appropriate.’

Teddy pounces. Draco muses that sure, he's comfy now, but what about when things need to get more serious, has he even been with a  _ man _ before? Is he going to want to be penetrated if it's his first time? Is Draco willing to attempt bottoming again for the sake of this idiot kid who got them in the trouble in the first place?

That said, if anyone should be doing the work here, it should be the idiot whose fault it is. And it can’t be worse than the last time he bottomed. 

‘You should top,’ Draco says between kisses. Words he never expected to say ever, let alone to a colleague, on a job, with Millicent probably on the other side of the door.

‘Okay.’

‘Do you want me to get on my back or my front?’

‘Back. The kissing is helping. I feel— more in control.’

‘Okay.’

Teddy scrambles off the floor and pulls Draco up, easing him back on the giant heart-shaped ottoman and following him down. His mouth doesn’t leave Draco’s. The feeling of unease has turned into something else that seems eerily similar to normal lust, if not at a more teenage concentration. He’s fully hard in his trousers just from kissing, and it's been a long while since that happened. 

He settles on his back and Teddy nudges between his knees, pushing his legs wider and dropping down so their hips press together. Draco groans internally because  _ Lord _ that feels good, but he’ll be damned if he admits it.

Teddy has no such filter and moans aloud, the vibrations tangible on Draco’s tongue as they kiss through it. Teddy curls his hips, rolling his own erection against Draco’s and it’s clearly not going to be small or easily managed after several years of topping, but Draco’s agreed to this and he’ll go through with it even if it means he can’t quite walk comfortably afterward. He probably deserves it after the amount of times he’s done it to someone else.

Teddy is panting in his ear now, hips grinding against Draco through their clothes. The trousers need to go. Hands on Teddy’s hips still him, and he snaps out of his lustful humping frenzy to come back to himself for a moment.

‘What?’

‘Trousers,’ Draco says. ‘Off.’

‘Okay.’ Teddy backs up and his jeans are on the floor in a matter of seconds. His pants go with them. 

He’s standing there, flushed and ruffled, his hair pink now, and his cock proudly jutting out from under his white button up shirt. Draco could eat him. Maybe he should.

‘Do you want to try and see if oral will be enough?’ he asks, trying not to stare at the dick in front of him as it sways in time with Teddy’s laboured breath.

‘You don’t have to.’ Teddy looks shy all of a sudden and Draco feels like actually he  _ does _ have to, thank you very much, because it’s  _ there _ and it looks like a really nice cock and he’s fucking poisoned with a lust potion so he’ll damn well do what he wants.

Teddy doesn't complain, not for a while. He very valiantly puts up with Draco sucking him down, again and again, only quietly whimpering and tugging on his hair. Draco undoes his own pants to comfort his own cock and he could quite happily come like this, sitting on a stupid heart-shaped ottoman and choking himself on dick. Except then Teddy says, above him,  _ ‘I need to fuck you, please. Please, Draco?’ _ and that just sounds lovely, so he pulls off with a slurp and gives himself a few hearty tugs to keep that urgent feeling at bay. Or try to.

He slides his wand out of its holster and swishes it over his own abdomen, once to void, another to clean and another to send lube swirling inside him. He conjures another glob of lube in his palm and coats Teddy’s erection from root to tip, drawing a beautifully wrecked sound out of him before lying back on the ottoman. It’s the wrong height, but Teddy’s young and his knees probably don’t hate him yet — he’ll cope.

‘You know what you're doing?’ Draco asks. He hates the prep charms but it’s preferable to clumsy fingering, and he still hasn’t ascertained the kid’s level of experience.

‘Yeah, yeah, I'm good,’ he says though, finding Draco’s arse easily with his fingers, reaching slowly past taut muscles and twisting in and out ‘til Draco growls at him. 

It takes less time than usual, and yet Draco still feels impatient. Maybe there’s something in with the poison, some sort of muscle relaxant. Considerate of them. The blunt pressure of a dick replaces the playful hand and Teddy hesitates only a little before pushing in. It's such a relief Draco thinks maybe he’s underestimated how much poison he was exposed to, and as Teddy groans happily and starts sliding slowly in and out, Draco feels a worrying urgency and begs him to go faster. 

Teddy is nothing if not obedient, at least when he’s given a direct order. He finds a rhythm quickly, and Draco helps a little, letting his hips move in time. He needs it harder though, less nice. Either because the poison says so or because Mill is correct and he’s a dirty bastard. The distinction doesn’t really matter right now.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asks Teddy, who’s curled around him and is busy panting into his shoulder.

‘I don't know,’ the kid says. ‘I think I need more.’

‘Then take it, whatever you want.’ Draco smiles at the hope it’ll be the same thing he wants himself.

‘Can we try it another way?’

‘Of course.’

Teddy pulls out too fast and flips Draco over while he’s still reeling from it, pulling him up onto all fours. He’s barely got his balance again when the kid rams back into him, hard and deep and Draco melts into the velvet. 

‘Is this okay?’ Teddy asks from above him, folded down over Draco’s back.

‘Yeah,’ Draco breathes. ‘This is good. Are you okay? Is this better?’

‘Yeah,’ Teddy says, and rams into him again. ‘This is good.’

It is, Draco must admit. ‘Do what you need to,’ he says, and _ please let it be ramming into me again and again. _

Happily, it is. Draco can barely hold himself up under the barrage and drops to his elbows, then his knees spread, then he’s flat on his stomach with his hips tilted up, gripping the edge of the ottoman in both hands and panting into the velvet.

‘I’m getting close…’ Teddy says, his breath coming in hot puffs against Draco’s neck. ‘Is this going to fix it? What if it doesn’t? What if—’

‘Teddy,’ he says. ‘Shut up and fuck me, or I’ll have to kill you myself.’

The kid laughs, once, almost hysterical, and Draco feels it deep inside him. Moments later, when he comes, he feels that too. The hot splash and the soft groan, and the convenient divot in the velvet that his cock’s been rubbing against, all push him over as one and he tenses, quivers, spilling himself into the deep buttoned crevice underneath him. He was right about it being a nightmare to clean. 

He was right about Teddy as well.

They manage a debrief of sorts as they lie in a sweaty pile of spunk and velvet, trying to remember how to breathe normally. There’s going to be paperwork and an HR meeting when they get back to work, and likely a healthy dose of extreme awkwardness. Draco lets Teddy know what to expect, and when the time comes, stays close to him until it’s all over and done with and he’s stepping into the Floo to go home. Draco feels infinitely more protective of him now, far more so than before. It’s ironic, though, since it’s likely Draco that poses the biggest threat to him.

‘Thanks,’ Teddy says, standing by the Floo, slightly pink in the cheeks. Draco wonders how on earth he got this lucky. To violate a colleague, Potter’s godson, and be thanked for it. No consequences at all unless you count a slight limp he’s actually rather enjoying.

‘It’s my job to keep you safe,’ is all he says though.

Draco stays at work for a little longer, shuffling papers and trying to forget what happened in quite so much detail. He has a feeling he’s avoiding going home because he’ll be too free to think about it once he’s there, in private. And thinking about it will undoubtedly lead to wanking about it, and he’s not sure that’s okay. He had to do what he did today, in case Teddy died. It’s forgivable. But sitting on his couch with his dick out and reliving it might not be. 

He leaves the office before he’s noticeably lingering, but there’s a humming sense of dread in him and he ends up walking instead of Apparating, just to use up some of the nervous energy.

He gets home at six and Teddy turns up on his doorstep at seven, saying he feels weird. That his symptoms are back — the rapid heartbeat, the itch under his skin, the persistent arousal. He’s worried. He thinks he’s dying. Draco is starting to feel the same way but he knows, for him, it’s nothing to do with the poison.

‘Maybe you need to fuck me too,’ Teddy whispers, and Draco drags him inside before the neighbours hear. 

He feels the kid’s forehead, his pulse, the hardness between his legs. Teddy got a much larger dose than he did himself. Just because it’s worked its way out of Draco’s system, doesn’t mean it’s out of Teddy’s. If they go into work to get him checked out, they’re only going to have to fuck again anyway, but they’ll have to do it at  _ work _ . With people monitoring them. That’s not going to do the kid any good, not if he already thinks he’s dying. Can’t be good for his state of mind... Draco can handle it. Here. In his home, where Teddy can relax. He grabs the kid around the waist and leads him to the bedroom.

After all, it’s his job to keep him safe.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of HP Next Gen Fest 2020. The creator will be revealed at the end of November.


End file.
